


Approach with Caution

by wheel_pen



Series: Dangerously in Love [2]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 23:14:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/767207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malcolm needs Trip to rescue him from a tough situation. Then, the situation gets even tougher. But Malcolm always has an escape plan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Approach with Caution

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Malcolm is not a member of the Enterprise crew, but rather someone Trip meets in a different way.
> 
> 2\. The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe.

For those who really liked the first story, “All Inclusive,” I apologize, because the series turns into something totally different. Story #2 was to be called “Small Galaxy” and would feature Trip meeting Malcolm again… on an alien planet, where he's pretending to be a native freedom fighter as part of his espionage plan. This is when Trip discovers that Malcolm is, in fact, a dangerous assassin. And a human. But, he really likes Trip. Sadly I never wrote this story.

Story #3 was to be called “All Humans Know Each Other.” Something about the Andorian captain, Shran, catching Malcolm the assassin, then running into Archer and being surprised that they know each other. Naturally Malcolm is running some kind of double-triple scheme with a bad Andorian as his target. Never wrote that one either.

Then, comes this story.

***

" _Bridge to Commander Tucker_." Trip had the distinct impression Hoshi had spoken more than once by the time he groggily sat up and slapped the intercom button near his bunk.

"Tucker here," he mumbled, ending with an enormous yawn.

" _There's a message coming in for you, Trip_ ," the Communications Officer informed him, far too perky for the late hour.

Trip frowned even as he swung his feet over the side of the bed, preparing to head for his computer terminal. "From who?" The only people he could think of who would call him were his parents or his sister, and if they were calling, something had to be wrong.

" _Unknown, Commander_."

He was already at the computer, quickly keying up the communications link. "Just pipe it here, Hoshi," Trip told her distractedly. "Thanks."

His screen flickered, then flickered a little more. It must be a bad connection. "Hello?" Trip said to the fuzzy, darkened picture. "Anyone there?"

" _Hello, darling_ ," said a familiar voice, and Trip breathed a small sigh of relief that it wasn't a family member calling with terrible news. Still, this particular caller didn't exactly bode well, either.

"Where are you?" Trip asked, sitting down in his desk chair.

The picture wavered and crackled around Malcolm's wry grin. " _I'm sending you coordinates, which I dearly hope you'll use_ ," the dark-haired man answered quickly. Trip was surprised as the numbers streamed across his screen; he hadn't really been expecting a straight-forward reply.

There was a loud noise in the background that Malcolm turned towards briefly, then hunkered down farther behind whatever object he had his back to. "What's going on, Mal?" Trip demanded with concern. "Are you alright?"

" _Trip, I've got some very important information I want to give your captain_ ," Malcolm told him urgently. " _But I need to make an exit from here, and soon_."

Trip glanced at the coordinates Malcolm had sent; they weren't too far off their present course. If it were solely up to Trip, he would have said yes without hesitation. "I—"

" _I know, you have to ask Archer_ ," the other man predicted with a rueful smile. " _But don't be too long about it, love_." Another noise in the background. Malcolm peered over the barrier behind him and picked up what looked on the blurry screen like a phase pistol.

"Mal!"

" _Don't try to contact me_ ," Malcolm advised, his attention turning away from the call. " _Just meet me there if you can_." He looked back at the screen, eye to eye with Trip for just a moment, and gave a reassuring smile. Then the screen went black.

"Malcolm!" Trip prodded at the controls, then hit the intercom button. "Hoshi, get that call back!"

" _Sorry, Trip_ ," she answered after a moment. " _It's been cut off at the source_."

"D----t," the engineer muttered under his breath. Well, there was really nothing else he could do in this situation. "Hoshi, wake the Captain up, tell him I'm comin' by." Trip grabbed a t‑shirt off the floor of his cabin and headed out the door.

 

Half an hour later the senior staff were assembled around the console at the back of the Bridge, most of them as bleary-eyed as Trip had been not too long before. They were, at least, dressed by this point, however. "The coordinates given are approximately point-three-five lightyears from here," announced T'Pol, one of the few people who did not appear to have been awakened from a sound sleep. "They refer to a specific location on the southern continent of a planet known as Traxik VII." A map of the system flashed onto the screen.

"Inhabited, I assume?" Archer asked.

"Indeed," the First Officer confirmed. "According to the Vulcan Database, the residents have achieved warp capability, but are considered too volatile and fractious for contact with other species."

"Well I'm guessin' they've met at least one human now," Trip commented sardonically.

"A number of species frequent the planet," T'Pol added coolly, "to engage in illegal trade and other illicit activities. The central government is too distracted by internal strife to regulate these behaviors."

"Sounds like a great place to stay away from," Marcus observed.

Archer looked as though he were about to agree. "Captain, he said he had important information for you," Trip reminded him, feeling slightly desperate.

"You don't think he'd say _anything_ , just to get us to help him escape?" Archer pointed out.

Well, Trip couldn't deny that. "But you saw the message, sir. What if he's in trouble?"

"He's a professional assassin," Marcus stated firmly. "I imagine he's in trouble a lot."

Trip glared at the Tactical Officer, then turned back to the Captain. "But what if he _is_ tellin' the truth, sir? Don't you want to know what's so important?"

"Captain," T'Pol began, "if we attempt to aid this man, we might find ourselves in the middle of an armed conflict on a planet about which very little is known. Our actions may be interpreted as humans supporting whatever criminal activity this man has been engaged in."

"I agree," Marcus said, predictably. "For all we know, we'd be walking into a trap."

"It's not a trap!" Trip snapped.

Marcus continued as if Trip hadn't spoken. "And even if we _were_ able to pick him up without difficulty, I certainly don't want to let him loose on _Enterprise_."

"Well you can keep him in the Brig!" Trip responded sharply. "Sir," he said to Archer, trying to sound reasonable instead of frantic, "I would never say Malcolm is always on the up‑and‑up, that is for sure." The engineer sensed more than heard the snorts behind him. "But you and I have never had a problem with him. I'm sure he coulda called half a dozen people to come and get him, but he called us." _Me_ , Trip had almost said. "The kind of people he knows, if he says his information is important, I think it's worth listenin' to."

Archer took a deep breath, glanced at the faces of his senior staff, and then looked at Trip. "I'm not going to get involved in an internal conflict, Trip," he resolved. The engineer started to protest. "You can take a shuttlepod," the Captain continued, as Trip's expression rose again. "But if you can't find him at the coordinates he gave, you will return to the ship _immediately_ , is that understood?"

"Yes, sir!" Trip assured him.

"And if I have _any_ doubts about his intentions on this ship he _will_ be confined to the Brig," Archer went on, "and he _will_ be turned over to the appropriate authorities." Although the man was likely wanted on so many systems, Archer wasn't sure who that would be.

"Absolutely, sir," Trip agreed whole-heartedly. If this was just some kind of ruse to get a lift out of trouble, Trip would lock the lying b-----d up himself. But he just couldn't make himself believe Malcolm would do that to _him_ —and he would hold tight to that attitude, until the day Malcolm finally _did_.

Archer gave Trip a final look of warning, then turned to Travis. "Mr. Mayweather, set course for the Traxik system."

 

Trip set the shuttlepod down in a clearing near a grove of trees, right at the spot Malcolm had directed. He was about ten kilometers outside of the continent's largest city, uncomfortably close to what looked like a housing development just across the river. At least it was after dark—maybe they would be able to get away without being noticed.

Trip killed the engine and peered through the window into the darkness for approximately ten seconds, then got impatient and popped the hatch, stepping cautiously out with his phase pistol in hand. Captain Archer had been very clear: he was to wait no more than five minutes. To Trip that seemed a ridiculously short amount of time, but T'Pol had calculated that it would take seven-point-two minutes for security forces from the city to reach the scene if someone reported Trip's unauthorized arrival, and Archer was keen to avoid any interactions with the locals.

There was a sudden noise in the trees and Trip spun in that direction, holding out his hand scanner. A number of humanoids were approaching quickly—with one in particular about ten meters in front of the rest. As if they were chasing him.

Great. Trip jumped back inside the pod and started it up as quietly as he could, no lights, just in case, then stuck his head back out of the hatch, waiting anxiously. A moment later a dark figure burst from the trees, stumbling in his direction. Trip pointed his phase pistol at the person but said nothing, not wanting to alert the pursuers. "Trip, it's me!" Malcolm hissed as loudly as he dared, and the engineer ran the last few meters to meet him.

Malcolm tumbled to his knees when Trip reached him, clutching his dark jacket tightly around his midsection. The expression of pain on his face was undeniable and Trip felt his blood run cold. "Mal, are you okay?" he demanded, glancing back at the trees. Whoever was chasing him would soon be appearing.

Malcolm gritted his teeth and forced himself to his feet, with Trip's help. "Let's get out of here," he replied instead, pushing towards the shuttle. The two of them crowded through the hatch and Trip pulled it shut, just as he heard shouts too close for comfort. Phase pistol shots dinged off the pod, leaving it undamaged, and Trip flipped the lights on to momentarily blind their attackers.

"Mal?" he asked over his shoulder, seeing the dark-haired man curled up on a bench at the back.

"Just go!"

Focusing on what he needed to do with the pod, Trip lifted it smoothly from the ground and pointed it towards the upper atmosphere. The air currents jostled them at first, but in a few minutes he had broken through to the vacuum of space and was cruising past the ineffective security satellites with no confrontation whatsoever. After repeatedly glancing back at the increasingly still Malcolm, Trip finally reached the point where he could safely let the autopilot take over and hurried to the bench.

"Mal? Malcolm!" The other man groaned as Trip pushed his body up, just a little, and pulled the blood-soaked jacket aside. The engineer felt his own blood drain from his face as he took in the wound—whether from a projectile weapon or a knife, he couldn't say, but it was deep and bleeding freely. _First aid, first aid_ , Trip snapped at himself, trying to think. He had a feeling the medikit in the pod wasn't going to do much good in this situation and instead ripped off his own jacket, pressing it over the wound along with Malcolm's in an effort to stop the bleeding.

Malcolm smiled a little as Trip ministered to him, directing him to keep his hands over his stomach to hold the makeshift bandage down. "Not going to help, you know," he breathed.

The intensity in Trip's eyes when he turned to Malcolm was startling. "You just lie still and be quiet," the blond ordered sharply, rising to take his place at the instrument console again. " _Enterprise_ , this is Shuttlepod One," he said into the comm. " _Enterprise_ , come in."

It was Archer, not Hoshi, who answered. " _Trip. Have you got him?_ "

"Yeah," Trip replied shortly. "Have Phlox meet us at the Launch Bay. Medical emergency." Before the Captain could respond Trip closed the channel and went back to Malcolm's side.

"Are you cold?" Trip asked, more for something to do. Immediately he began racking his brain for the storage place of the emergency blankets, frustrated that he couldn't remember. He started opening hatches until he felt Malcolm tugging on his trousers.

"Trip. Trip!" The engineer stopped his search and dropped to his knees by the bench, taking Malcolm's bloody hand in his own. "I need you to tell Archer—"

"You tell him yourself," Trip insisted.

Malcolm swallowed and shook his head, both with effort. "I'm not going to make it, Trip," he stated flatly, expediently. "Tell Archer—"

" _Don't say that_ ," Trip ordered him fiercely. "Phlox can fix you up. You just have to hang on a little bit longer—"

Malcolm didn't exactly laugh—it would have been too painful—but Trip knew he was trying. "Darling, I've been close to death enough times to know when it's finally come for me," he assured the other man. "Would you _please_ shut up and listen?" he added, ever affectionate, when Trip tried to protest. He had to wait a moment before continuing, to gather his strength. "Tell Archer, someone's trying to kill him."

"What?"

"Hiring someone to kill him," Malcolm clarified, through gritted teeth. "Tried to hire me." He grinned a little. "So they only... want the best."

"Mal, don't—"

"I don't know who," Malcolm pressed on resolutely. "Not the Klingons. Not the Orions. Maybe..." He shook his head, trying to think, trying to focus. "Maybe the Corvallans."

"Corvallans?" Trip repeated in confusion.

" _Hah'mech Lah'tu_ ," Malcolm told him, before being seized by a wave of pain.

" _Hah'mech_ what?" Trip asked in distress. He didn't really care about the message; but his eyes were starting to blur as he watched his friend's body contort, his pallid face turn ever more ashen. An insistent beeping from the instrument console warned Trip that he was nearing _Enterprise_ , being hailed by her. He ignored it. "Malcolm! Just hang on, we're almost there," he begged.

Malcolm's mouth quirked up in a smile, just a tiny one. He pulled his hand away from Trip's and rested it against the other man's cheek. "I really liked you, you know," he said distinctly, then his eyes drifted shut and the hand dropped away.

"Malcolm! Mal!"

The beeping turned into a blare and Trip yanked himself away from the bench furiously, nearly slipping on the pool of blood collecting on the floor and slamming the pod controls. " _Enterprise_ , I'm here, open the doors," he barked into the comm, firing the braking thrusters just in time to avoid flying right into the ship itself. He guided the pod gracelessly into the Launch Bay but set it down as gently as he could, not wanting to jostle Malcolm more than he had to. As soon as the pressurization indicator lit up Trip popped the hatch, shouting for Phlox. He hadn't been able to get a pulse from Malcolm.

The doctor and his medical team had been waiting for the same green light and bustled across the bay to the pod. "Is he... alive?" Trip demanded, dreading the answer.

"Barely," Phlox remarked. "He needs immediate attention—which I cannot give him if you are in the way, Commander Tucker."

"Trip, come on." The voice and the hands that dragged Trip out of the pod belonged to Archer, who pulled him around to the end of the shuttle where he couldn't see the doctor's team stabilizing and moving Malcolm. "Are you alright?" Archer asked in concern. "You're covered in blood!"

"It's not mine," Trip told him shortly, trying to follow the medical procession out of the Launch Bay.

"Wait, wait," Archer insisted, holding him back. "Let Phlox do his job."

The Launch Bay door closed, cutting off Trip's view of Malcolm, and he sagged against the pod as if all his strength had suddenly disappeared as well. "Trip!" Archer caught him and helped him gently to the floor, patting the engineer down. "You're sure you're not hurt?"

Trip shook his head. "I'm fine," he replied, voice thick.

"Phlox will do everything he can for him," Archer assured his friend, not knowing what else to say.

The engineer nodded, bit his lip for a moment, trying to compose himself. He couldn't do anything to help Malcolm right now, he told himself. He just had to wait. Which was probably the most difficult thing that could have been asked of him.

Suddenly remembering, Trip gripped Archer's arm tightly. "He said someone was trying to kill you, Jon," he reported, dropping the rank. He had more than one friend in trouble at the moment. "Someone's trying to hire a professional killer."

"Who?" Jon asked, mystified.

"He doesn't know," Trip replied in frustration. "He said something about maybe the—Corvallans?"

"I've never heard of them," Jon admitted.

"Me neither," Trip agreed. "And he said—something... _Hah'mech... Lah'tu_? I don't know, something like that."

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know." Trip sighed and leaned back against the pod in defeat. "I don't know."

 

An hour later Trip had scrubbed the blood off his face and hands and changed into a fresh uniform, but he felt as twisted inside as he had before. He could hardly stand still when Archer called the senior staff to their briefing at the back of the Bridge; his thoughts were firmly in Sickbay, which he had been forbidden to visit for the moment. There were even two armed guards posted outside the door—not necessarily to keep him _out_ , but to keep Malcolm _in_. As if there were any chance of him making a break for it at the moment.

"T'Pol, the Corvallans?" Archer prompted.

The First Officer displayed another schematic on the console. "The planet Corvalla is located approximately eight-seven point three lightyears from here," she informed them. "The population is peaceful and tends to limit space travel to within their own system. There is no recorded contact between any Corvallans and humans."

Archer frowned. "So why would they want to hire a professional killer to find _me_?"

"Captain," Marcus pointed out cynically, "I don't think we can treat this information as completely accurate, considering the source."

"G-------t!" Trip slammed his fist down on the table. "It was practically his _dying breath_ ," he snapped in disgust. "That's a h—l of a time to lie!"

Marcus at least had the grace to look a bit uncomfortable. Archer diverted the discussion by asking gently, "How is he?"

Trip shook his head, pushing away from the table. "Too soon to tell."

Archer waited a moment, then turned to Hoshi. "What about that phrase Trip gave you?"

"It took some searching, Captain, but I think I found it," the Communications Officer reported, glancing at her data pad. "It comes from an ancient dialect of Vulcan that was spoken nearly three thousand years ago." As always whenever the Vulcans were mentioned, heads swiveled briefly to T'Pol. And also as always, the Vulcan merely waited serenely for Hoshi to continue. "It means, something like—'brothers reunited.'"

If a Vulcan would admit she could look startled, Archer would bet T'Pol looked that way now. "Commander?" he asked curiously.

She regained her composure so quickly Archer thought he might have been mistaken about her expression. " _Hah'mech Lah'tu_ ," she stated calmly, although Archer hadn't told her the phrase Trip had given Hoshi.

"You've heard of this?" the Captain questioned in surprise.

"It is a... radical political faction," T'Pol replied, ever so slightly reluctant.

"On _Vulcan_?" Marcus asked incredulously.

T'Pol's gaze was withering. "Vulcans do not all hold the same opinions on many matters," she answered tartly. "There are a number of different political factions who feel that the path of logic leads in different directions."

"You called this group 'radical,'" Archer reminded her. "What exactly is _their_ stand?"

Now Archer was _certain_ T'Pol was uncomfortable. "They wish to open trade negotiations with the Romulan Star Empire," she told them, so smoothly Archer felt she had to be leaving something out.

"And that's it?" he asked. "What's so radical about that?"

T'Pol's look said it should be obvious. "The Romulans are warlike and ruthless," she pointed out, with the slightest touch of venom. "We have seen this for ourselves. To invite interaction with them is to invite conquest. The _Hah'mech Lah'tu_ have in fact been implicated in a number of crimes and violent demonstrations, on Vulcan. It is rumored they are financially supported by the Romulans."

"What's that got to do with Corvalla?" Hoshi wondered.

"I do not have enough information to speculate," T'Pol informed her tightly. "Corvalla _is_ located only three-point-three-seven lightyears from the known border of Romulan territory."

"And what does all this have to do with _us_?" Archer questioned.

"Unknown," the Vulcan answered coolly.

"Well, keep digging, all of you," Archer finally decided. "Whatever you can find out about this... faction, and Corvalla. I'll talk to Admiral Forrest."

The officers nodded and were about to disperse when the doctor's voice chirped over the intercom. " _Captain Archer, would you please come to Sickbay. Commander Tucker, too_." It was impossible to tell from Phlox's voice if the news was good or bad.

"On our way," Archer assured him. Trip was already jogging for the lift.

 

Trip burst into Sickbay before Archer, having narrowly been prevented from sprinting all the way there from the lift. "Doctor?"

Phlox smiled cheerfully at him and continued to fuss with his instruments. "Close call, Commander, but I believe he will pull through."

Trip felt like hugging the Denobulan. "Great, Doc. Can I see him?"

Phlox indicated a biobed curtained off towards the back of the room. "Only very briefly," he warned. "What he needs now is rest."

Trip barely heard the last part as he slipped behind the curtain, trying to be quiet. The soft beeps and hisses of the monitors had always been intimidating to him, never more so than when they were tracking someone he cared about. The only sign of illness Trip could see was the IV tube trailing from Malcolm's arm; otherwise he just seemed to be peacefully asleep.

His eyes fluttered open as Trip neared. "Sorry, didn't mean to wake you," Trip whispered guiltily.

"Where...?" Malcolm breathed, eyes darting around.

"We're on _Enterprise_ ," Trip told him reassuringly. "You were wrong about that whole dyin' thing," he added, trying to lighten the mood.

Malcolm gave a tiny smile and his fingers twitched, reaching for Trip's. The engineer took his hand as firmly as he dared. "Let's wait and see, shall we, darling?" he suggested archly. "It may yet come to pass."

"The doc says you need to rest," Trip warned him. "Now I don't want you to worry about anything. You're perfectly safe here."

Malcolm's lips twisted a bit at Trip's protective tone. Then he asked, more seriously, "Did you tell Archer—"

"I told him," Trip assured the other man. "We don't know what the heck you're talkin' about, some crazy Vulcan faction or somethin', but we're lookin' into it."

Malcolm blinked, took a deep breath—and tried to sit up. "I should talk to him—"

"You are not going anywhere, mister," Trip informed him sharply. "You lay back down or I will have the doc here with a sedative before you get one _toe_ off that bed."

"I seem to have little choice in the matter," Malcolm observed dryly, settling back.

"That's d—n right."

A throat cleared outside the curtain and Phlox poked his head in. "Commander, if you please..."

"Sleep," Trip ordered Malcolm, untangling their hands.

"Aye, aye, sir," the other man answered sardonically.

 

Trip knew that Phlox and his assistants were nothing if not professional, and devoted to the care of their patients. Still, he had been worried that Malcolm would feel isolated—lonely, really—all by himself in Sickbay, especially with all the guards Marcus had insisted on posting. There was even a guard at the foot of Malcolm's bed, which Trip personally found ridiculous. Malcolm had thirty-seven stitches across his stomach, and that was just on the _outside_ ; he wasn't going to stage a prison break anytime soon.

A week after retrieving the dark-haired man, though, Trip began to realize Malcolm was _anything_ but starved for attention in Sickbay. Most of the female assistants and even a few of the males seemed to think he was the most charming and delightful patient they'd had in some time and fluttered constantly about him until Phlox himself had to shoo them away. He was even teaching the guard at the foot of his bed a card game he'd picked up somewhere, at least when Marcus wasn't poking around suspiciously.

Besides which, Trip was a daily visitor to his bedside, dispersing the cooing assistants with a glare and yanking the curtains shut around them for a little privacy. "I was gonna bring you some pecan pie," Trip began a bit sourly, "but I see you've already got your forbidden treats."

Malcolm reclined against some pillows on the biobed and merely smiled as Trip noisily removed three plates of half-eaten pastries from his lap. "Just trying to keep up my strength, darling."

"Yeah, well..." Trip found he couldn't remain in a bad mood when Malcolm looked at him that way, took his hand firmly. "They should be lettin' you rest."

"Oh, I get _endless_ amounts of rest here," Malcolm sighed. "Never cared much for recuperation time."

"Well you take it all," Trip ordered him. "Don't worry about anything."

"I'm not worried, love," Malcolm assured him. "I'm enjoying your captain's hospitality immensely. Though I suspect your Tactical Officer would rather I recuperate in the Brig."

"There has been some talk of that," Trip admitted reluctantly. "But Captain Archer would never do that unless Phlox said you were okay."

"Then perhaps I should heal more slowly," Malcolm teased.

Trip glared at him. "That's not funny."

"When am I going to get an audience with your captain, anyway?" Malcolm continued. "I should think he'd be a _little_ more concerned, what with a price on his head."

"He said he was gonna come down here soon," Trip replied. "He's been talking to Admiral Forrest at Starfleet a lot lately."

Malcolm raised an eyebrow but said nothing about that. "You _do_ realize, my dear, that Brig or no, I am not going to allow Captain Archer to turn me over to any authorities."

Trip wished he wouldn't talk like that. It made the engineer feel like he was a conspirator somehow. "Don't think about that," he suggested, although he understood that did little good. Of _course_ Malcolm was going to think about that. Malcolm always had an escape plan.

The dark-haired man smiled indulgently. "I like being on this ship with you," he declared suddenly, squeezing Trip's fingers. The smile turned into a smirk. "And I'm greatly looking forward to being cleared for physical activity again."

His meaning was obvious and Trip grinned even as he shook his head. "That all you ever think about?" he accused.

"If only it were," Malcolm replied, but before Trip had time to process that odd remark, they heard the Sickbay door hiss open and the Captain's voice saying something to Phlox.

"Looks like you're gonna get your audience," Trip commented.

"Lovely. How's my hair?"

Trip rolled his eyes and stood, unsure whether he should let go of Malcolm's hand. Jon knew how much Trip cared about the man, of course; but he didn't exactly approve, considering Malcolm's profession. Trip didn't want to throw the relationship in Jon's face, though, as he very well _could_ send Malcolm straight to the Brig and later some alien penal colony if he chose to. Malcolm made the decision for him, disentangling their fingers with a wink at Trip just before Archer cleared his throat and drew the privacy curtain aside.

"Captain Archer," Malcolm greeted genially.

"Malcolm." Archer was nothing if not polite. "How are you feeling?"

"Extremely grateful," the dark-haired man assured him sincerely. "Both for the lift and the medical attention."

"Your message was... intriguing," Archer admitted. He felt a little callous suggesting he had only saved the man's life because his own may be threatened; then he rebelled against the notion of feeling badly for hurting a professional assassin's feelings.

"I assume you've already done some investigating," Malcolm remarked, his voice all business.

Archer looked at the data pad he'd brought in, even though he had the scant information on it memorized. " _Hah'mech Lah'tu_ is a Vulcan political faction rumored to be financially supported by the Romulans, to help clear the way for a possible Romulan takeover of Vulcan," he summarized blandly.

Malcolm smirked a little, very briefly. "Is _that_ what you've heard?"

Archer glanced at him sharply. "You know something different?"

Malcolm shrugged, thinking it over a bit. "Personally I would call _Hah'mech Lah'tu_ a criminal organization with a very flimsy legitimate front in politics," he decided. "But I'm not surprised your... sources would not want to admit that Vulcans _have_ major criminal organizations."

"It _is_ a little difficult to imagine," Archer agreed. Trip pictured Vulcans in fedoras and pin-striped suits, clutching tommy guns, and wisely decided not to say anything about it. "But T'Pol mentioned that the group _had_ been implicated in acts of violence."

"And as for their motivations..." Malcolm went on. He stopped himself and gave a mysterious smile. "Well, it's not really my place to explain that, Captain. The information you currently have is functionally sufficient."

Archer didn't exactly care for his tone. It struck him as being on just this side of arrogant, especially for a wanted criminal propped up in his Sickbay. Glancing at Trip's hopeful expression, however, Archer gritted his teeth and continued. "I'm afraid we don't quite understand how the Corvallans fit into all this."

"Corvalla is located just outside the border of Romulan territory," Malcolm explained matter-of-factly. Archer found he tolerated this approach a little better. "They've made quite an industry for themselves as middlemen for the Romulans in any number of activities, both legal and not."

The Captain frowned. "We haven't heard anything about that. I thought they were"—he glanced at the data pad again—"peaceful with limited space travel."

"A rather... _restrained_ assessment, considering your First Officer used to work for Vulcan Security Directorate," Malcolm observed sharply.

Archer's eyes blazed. "Are you questioning the loyalty of my crew?" he snapped.

"Now, Cap'n—" Trip began placatingly.

"What I'm _questioning_ ," Malcolm replied coolly, "is the seriousness with which you are handling this information, Captain." Archer glared at him, waiting. "A month ago, a reputable broker offered me an obscenely large amount of money to kill you. If I'd accepted it, you'd be dead right now." Malcolm's gaze was steely.

Archer's eyes narrowed at him. "You've been sitting on this information for a month?" he said sarcastically. "You were just waiting until you needed a ride before passing it on?"

Malcolm didn't blink. "I thought you might, possibly, want a little more detail than what I had at the time, Captain," he shot back. "It's taken me this long to track backwards through the brokers. I finally found someone on Traxik who _thought_ he could confirm the involvement of the Corvallans. Which would be tantamount to the involvement of the Romulans."

"You were on that planet huntin' down the people who are tryin' to kill the Captain?" Trip surmised admiringly. He looked pointedly at Archer. "And here we all thought you were just there causin' trouble."

"I'm sure we're all impressed by your humanitarian efforts," Archer remarked dryly. Malcolm smiled a little at that and the unexpected response threw Jon off a bit. Shaking his head he continued, "You said he only _thought_ he could identify the Corvallans."

"That's correct, Captain," Malcolm admitted baldly. "I'm not completely certain the Romulans are behind this. But I've eliminated a number of other potential backers." He smirked a little. "A _number_ of others. You're quite the wanted man, Captain."

And that was as perfect a segue as Archer had ever heard. "Then we have something in common," he observed. "I had Ensign Sato search for your genetic profile in the intergalactic security alerts." Malcolm's look suggested he wasn't surprised. "There are over a dozen warrants for your arrest. Including one from Earth."

"What for?" asked Trip with some concern. Although probably not the right _kind_ of concern, Jon guessed.

"It doesn't say," Archer replied, handing the data pad over to Trip to examine. "Just, 'Extremely dangerous. Approach with caution.'" He looked Malcolm straight in the eye. "Care to enlighten us?"

"No," the man replied simply.

"What's this other thing from Starfleet?" Trip asked curiously, opening another file Archer had left for him on the data pad. Malcolm's eyes flickered over to the blond in the first display of nervousness the Captain had observed in the man. He felt a twinge of triumph at the sight.

"The genetic profile search also turned up Malcolm's academic records from the Starfleet Tactical Training Corps," Archer revealed, restraining himself from relishing the look of pique on the fugitive's face. "Or should I say, Cadet Reed?"

The Captain's moment of superiority was short-lived. He could already see the wheels turning in Malcolm's head. "And what did you find in that file, Captain?"

"There's nothing here," Trip supplied, poking at the display screen one more time. "Just the date of entrance into the Corps, and exit." No addresses, graduation date, specialty, major professor. "Can't even see your grades," he added, confusion mixing with his attempt at levity.

"Above average," Malcolm assured him. Now _he_ was the one pinning Archer with his gaze. "I imagine you called some friends at Starfleet Command and asked them where the rest of the file was."

"I did," Archer agreed tightly. Trip looked at him in anticipation. "I was told it's blocked under a Level V security clearance."

Trip's eyes widened. "Level _V_? Isn't that what they use for threats to Starfleet safety?" He turned to Malcolm and Archer watched the man shift uncomfortably with some glee.

"Gross overreaction," was Malcolm's grudging response.

"What did you _do_?" Trip persisted, and Archer crossed his arms over his chest, waiting for Malcolm to answer with a maddeningly smug expression.

The dark-haired man narrowed his eyes at Archer, and for the first time the Captain considered that ticking this particular fellow off might not be such a good idea. That blue-grey gaze warned him that he was tampering with things best left alone.

The look he turned on Trip, however, seemed genuinely warm. "I dropped out of the Tactical Training Corps after my third year," he revealed lightly. "Actually, I was _asked_ to leave. Failed the psych exam." He gave Archer a smirk.

"I think you have to do a _little_ more than that to get a Level V security clearance," the Captain reminded them.

"Captain," Malcolm rejoined professionally, as if he were trying to get them back on track at a business meeting, "would you rather talk about the misadventures of my youth, or help me figure out why the Romulans want you dead so badly?"

Well, when he put it that way... Archer didn't trust the man. This was a long-standing opinion, established well _before_ the arrest warrants began rolling in (and most of them were far more detailed than Starfleet's). On the other hand was the simple fact Trip had reminded them of before Archer had allowed him to aid Malcolm's latest escape: in their handful of encounters he'd never worked against _them_. If truth be told there might be a few less crewmembers aboard _Enterprise_ if Malcolm hadn't been around to assist them out of hazardous situations. In no way did that change the fact that he was a cold-blooded murderer for hire, and possibly not entirely in his right mind as well—the epitome of the words branding more than one arrest warrant, "extremely dangerous." Archer didn't intend to relax around him, or to give him free rein over the ship. But Trip was probably right about something else also: with the kind of people a man like Malcolm knew, he could get to the bottom of this mystery better than anyone else currently aboard.

 

Archer knew Hoshi was scrambling to do something about the harsh metallic buzzing that accompanied the alien captain's speech over the Universal Translator. The harsh metallic buzzing that was giving Archer a headache, spiking through his brain every time the man spoke. Which was often, as he kept interrupting everything Archer wanted to say. Unfortunately Hoshi just wasn't working fast enough.

Archer could understand why the other captain was angry. If Archer were in his shoes—assuming these aliens _wore_ shoes—he would think his counterpart was deliberately stalling for time. And he would be correct. _Partly_ correct, Archer amended quickly.

"I am fully prepared to hand the fugitive over to a _legitimate_ law enforcement unit," Archer repeated firmly, for perhaps the third time in this conversation. "If you could provide documentation of Malcolm Reed's criminal status on your planet—"

" _He killed the Leader of our House!_ " the alien captain shot back furiously, also repetitive. " _We do not need_ documentation _to avenge this crime!_ "

"Well in _my_ culture, you _do_ ," Archer replied testily. "I'm not going to hand a man over to be executed by vigilantes without a trial—"

" _On our homeworld he would not receive a trial!_ " the captain insisted. " _We know he is guilty! It is our duty to execute him as soon as possible. The laws of our world are quite clear on this!_ "

"We're not _on_ your world," Archer pointed out, unnecessarily. He felt the diplomatic training T'Pol had tried to beat into his mind flying right out the airlock. "We're in open space. No culture's laws automatically apply."

" _You would challenge our ship?_ " the other man snapped. " _You would battle us over this murderer?_ "

Archer stared at him. "And you would destroy _Enterprise_ and all her crew to kill one man? Is that the level of vengeance the Leader of your House would have wanted?"

" _Yes!_ " Archer knew he shouldn't have asked that question. " _We do not want to destroy you or your ship, Captain,"_ the alien went on, and he seemed sincere, if enraged _. "But we will have this man. And if you help him to escape from us we will count you as collaborators in our Leader's murder!_ "

"Wait a minute!" Archer protested. "My crew and I had nothing to do with your Leader's death! You can't just _decide_ to execute us as criminals on the spot. Is that what you call _justice_ on your planet?"

" _Yes!_ " Archer decided he really needed to stop asking those kinds of questions.

 

Trip had routed the sensor data down to Engineering, but Malcolm didn't need to see it to know what the likely outcome would be. "The ships are evenly matched," he commented, staring intently at a warp field diagnostic screen. Trip was just coming to the same conclusion himself, based on the alien vessel's weapons complement. "A lucky shot, or a stupid mistake, would determine the winner. It's too risky. How do you regulate the alternating warp field inversions?"

Trip blinked, trying to follow two topics of conversation at the same time. "There's a diamagnetic charger attached to the phase coupler," he sputtered automatically, the engineering terms available even while distracted. "But the Captain _can't_ hand you over to these people. They're gonna kill you on the spot!"

"They will attack _Enterprise_ in order to get to me," Malcolm informed him, seemingly without concern. "These people are admirably persistent. And Captain Archer cannot risk his ship and his crew." He was on his knees now, eyes flicking over the diamagnetic charger Trip had pointed out to him. "Is this on a separate power circuit from the rest of the warp field apparatus?"

"No," Trip told him with exasperation. "Would you get up? You shouldn't be crawlin' around."

Malcolm stood dutifully. "Why not?"

"You'll pull your stitches!"

The dark-haired man smiled a little. "No, I mean—why is the diamagnetic charger not on a separate power circuit?"

"H—l, Mal, there's an alien ship out there that wants to kill you, and Cap'n Archer's doin' the tap dance of his life tryin' to get out of it!" Trip pointed out heatedly. "Why do you only wanna talk about engineering?!"

Malcolm's smile increased fractionally and he stepped closer to Trip, invading his personal space in an intimate way. Trip involuntarily glanced around and noted that members of his staff seemed to be conveniently absent from view. "You love engineering," Malcolm reminded him, gingerly brushing a bit of non-existent lint off the red piping of Trip's uniform. "You've always wanted to show me your engine room, haven't you?"

There was a double entendre in that, but since the two of them had just, er, gone to warp the night before—but only warp one, in light of Malcolm's injuries—Trip didn't find it as distracting as he would have earlier. "Mal, come on," he pleaded, taking the man's hand.

Malcolm entangled their fingers, his smile never faltering. "At the moment, I can do nothing to alter the situation," he explained to Trip, gently. "I cannot let the Captain put his crew in danger to save me, yet I _also_ have no intention of gallantly volunteering to turn myself over."

Trip immediately assured him, "No one's askin' that you—"

Malcolm quieted the engineer by closing the inches between them and kissing him. The temporary reduction in oxygen seemed to improve Trip's mood. "So," he grinned, a little breathless, when Malcolm leaned back, "is that a phase pistol in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?"

Malcolm actually snorted at the egregious joke, an unusually unguarded reaction that had Trip smiling all the more. The smile wavered when he felt the other man groping for something in the general phase pistol area. Trip couldn't count on his crew to be derelict in their duties for _too_ long, after all. "Uh, Mal—"

A cylindrical metallic device tapped him on the chest. "Actually, it's a communications beacon," Malcolm told him dryly.

Trip snickered a little, almost involuntarily, then asked, "What's it for?"

"Escape Plan Beta," the other man answered with mock precision. "Which I hope will kick in soon," he added, stepping back from Trip and slipping the device back in his pocket. "But as neither my hope nor my worry will increase its speed—it would be a waste of time to indulge them."

"G-d, you sound like T'Pol, only sexier," Trip admitted, the words tumbling out before he could think over them a second time. He cleared his throat, much to Malcolm's amusement, and pressed on, "You gonna tell me about this plan?"

"No," the dark-haired man replied firmly. "But I promise to say good-bye, before I leave."

 

Once Hoshi had found a way to tone down the buzzing sound of the Agamans' language, Archer discovered he didn't mind talking to the vaguely reptilian aliens quite so much. In fact, he was pleasantly surprised to discover that far from being irrational, bloodthirsty vigilantes, they were actually quite reasonable, and far more patient than Archer himself would have been in the same situation. Their captain, Josk, really _didn't_ want to attack _Enterprise_ , and not just because there was the chance he would lose. He had been extremely receptive to Archer's explanations of how the justice system worked on Earth and had even asked for additional literature on the subject, which Archer had gladly sent. In turn the Agamans had spent hours trying to clarify the process of jurisprudence on _their_ world and the ancient obligation of a House's members to bring peace to their deceased Leader's soul in the afterlife by sending the soul of the Leader's killer to join him/her.

"...it's like the action of taking a life somehow entwines the killer's soul with that of the victim," Archer was telling his senior staff with his trademark excitement, "so that neither one can really be complete without the other, either in this life or the next. It's really a fascinating culture. Hoshi's been translating some of the philosophical and religious literature they've sent over—"

"Excuse me, Captain Archer," Malcolm cut in politely, and Archer narrowed his eyes at him, wondering how the man had ended up at his senior staff meeting on the Bridge, "but who gives a f—k?"

Several staff members opened their mouths in rebuke, then shut them when they realized they had always wanted to say that themselves at one point or another. Malcolm continued in the same reasonable tone, "Are they going to attack the ship, or are they going to let it go? That is a question which I, for one, would very much like an answer to."

Archer glared at Malcolm but realized he could hardly reproach him for insubordination when he wasn't actually a member of the crew. Besides which, several of the other officers were looking at the Captain expectantly, waiting for a response to that same question themselves. "We still haven't settled that issue yet," he finally admitted. "Although I highly doubt letting _you_ go is an option for them."

"Seems like just handing him over to them would be the most _diplomatic_ solution, don't you think, Captain?" The suggestion came from Marcus, whom no one would describe as overly concerned with diplomacy. Although, he at least had enough sense to make that comment at a time when Trip was absent. "Besides which, as I've said before, there's no guarantee _Enterprise_ would survive a firefight with this ship—you can bet we would at least be disabled, and boarded, in their pursuit of _him_." If Malcolm found it odd to be talked about as if _he_ were the one absent, especially regarding a matter of literal life and death, his expression didn't reveal it.

"I must disagree with Lt. Marcus," T'Pol announced. All heads swiveled to her. "Mr. Reed's assistance over the last two weeks in investigating the assassination plans against you has been invaluable. In my opinion, turning him over to the Agamans—which would result in an immediate execution—would very likely ensure your death." Malcolm looked back at the Captain with great interest.

"You don't think you and Marcus can—adequately investigate these claims?" Archer prodded.

"Lt. Marcus and I do not have the proper resources," T'Pol pointed out smoothly. "Mr. Reed, being of the criminal element himself, is much better suited to the task. Additionally, Captain," she went on, just a touch reproving, "your use of the word 'claims' suggests you are not entirely convinced of the accuracy of the assassination plans against you. In my latest report to you I clearly stated that Mr. Reed's information has been validated by independent sources."

Archer paced a little. "If I give him to the Agamans"—and Malcolm had been so quiet lately that it was easy for Archer to speak about him in the third person—"knowing what will happen to him, I'm basically a cold-blooded murderer."

"Well, _he_ could hardly fault you for that," Marcus remarked pointedly, looking straight at Malcolm. "And a lot of people, on a lot of planets, would just call that 'justice.'"

Archer went on after giving his Tactical Officer a look. "And I also might be getting rid of the one person who could prevent my _own_ murder." T'Pol nodded once in support of his summary. "If I _don't_ give him to the Agamans, they will attack _Enterprise_ to get him. At best, we would escape with minimal damage after disabling them, but this would probably make us co‑conspirators in their Leader's murder, so the next time they met up with us, they would try to kill us all right away."

"And at worst, if they attack _Enterprise_ "—this came, surprisingly, from Malcolm himself—"a lot of people might get killed, on both ships, who don't deserve it." There was nothing like remorse in either his voice or his eyes that Archer could see—he might have been talking about the unfavorable outcome of a game he wasn't that interested in to begin with.

"Another option, as yet unexplored, would seem preferable," T'Pol concluded. What that option _was_ , no one offered any ideas.

 

"—so the plasma flow is controlled by the injectors here, which pass the electromagnetic pulses through the phase conduits," Trip was explaining enthusiastically.

"And the rhythm of the pulses is what maintains a stable warp field?" Malcolm surmised.

Trip smirked a little. "Well, we don't it a _rhythm_ , we call it a _syncopated wave pattern_ ," he corrected, "but essentially, yes."

"Hmm," Malcolm remarked, gazing at the schematic on the screen. "Interesting."

"You're picking this up pretty fast for a beginner," Trip commented leadingly, though he was still smiling.

"I've been doing some reading," Malcolm assured him. "Just the other day I was perusing—" He stopped suddenly and felt his pocket, drawing out the communications device he had shown Trip the other day. It vibrated gently in his palm and flashed blue light in an erratic sequence. With a thoughtful expression on his face, Malcolm moved to the sensor display.

"Mal?" Trip asked with some concern. "What is it? What's goin' on?"

The other man was staring at the data streaming across the panel. Trip didn't see anything unusual in it, but then he'd never been much of a science person. "Escape Plan Beta," Malcolm said quietly, and his smile was a little sad.

"What are you up to?" Trip demanded, and this time there was fear in his voice.

"I need to stage a little scene, my love," Malcolm told him, turning quickly to the engineer. "It can't look as though anyone on _Enterprise_ were helping me escape, or the Agamans would add them to their Wanted list."

"You're gonna _escape_?" Trip repeated with disbelief. "To _where_? You'd never outrun their ship in a shuttlepod..."

Malcolm ignored the question. "I'll need a hostage, darling. Would you do me the honor?"

Trip stared at him, trying to read his expression. "We should run this by the Captain first."

"No time," Malcolm stated. "And we need realism anyway. Come on, we're going to do it now."

"What— _now_?" Malcolm was already heading out of Engineering and Trip jogged after him. "Where are you going?"

"The Bridge." The dark-haired man glanced back over his shoulder at Trip and held out his hand. Feeling like this was a bad idea, Trip shook his head and took it.

 

" _I'm sorry, Captain Archer, I really must press for an answer soon_ ," Josk was saying on the viewscreen.

"I know, I know, Captain," Archer admitted reluctantly, "but I was hoping we would be able to come to some kind of—compromise."

" _We have enjoyed learning about your human culture, Captain_ ," Josk assured him, and he seemed sincere, as far as Archer could tell. " _We understand your reluctance to commit another human to death. But our Day of Reckoning is close at hand_."

Well, didn't _that_ sound sinister. "Day of Reckoning?"

" _A religious holiday of great importance_ ," Josk explained. " _In our culture, if a murdered soul remains unaccompanied on the Day of Reckoning, the soul can return to the living world to torment those who were charged with avenging the soul's death_."

"Oh. And when does this take place?"

" _Tomorrow_."

Great. "Captain Josk, isn't there some way we could—"

"Captain!" Archer turned sharply towards Marcus, then back to where the Tactical Officer indicated. Gasps flew across the Bridge. Malcolm had just stepped out of the lift—and in front of him he held Trip, a phase pistol pointed squarely at his head. A horrific buzzing went off over the comm system as the Agaman officers got a good look at the human they had been searching for.

"Malcolm, what are you—"

"Shut up," the fugitive snapped at Archer, pulling the arm he held around Trip's neck even tighter. Marcus had his own phase pistol out and pointed at them, but Malcolm was using Trip's body as a shield. "I'm not going to let you hand me over to _them_ to die, Captain."

Archer took a step towards them. "You hurt him and I will hunt you down and kill you myself." There was no mistaking the seriousness of his words.

"Your Chief Engineer will be unharmed," Malcolm spat, "as long as you do as I say." Fury radiated off Archer. He couldn't believe he had actually started to—put some level of trust in this man. At least when it came to the person he was currently holding a phase pistol on. "You're going to give me a shuttlepod, and you're going to make sure _they_ "—he nodded towards the reptilian aliens on the viewscreen—"don't follow me. When I feel I'm safe I'll let you know what asteroid you can pick up Commander Tucker on."

"You lying b-----d, you'll never—"

"Captain!" Malcolm warned. "Another step and you'll doom your friend here. I don't know why you're so surprised," he added quickly. "I told you the Brig hadn't been built that could contain _me_."

Confusion flashed across Archer's face. He didn't recall Malcolm ever saying that to him. Anyway, he hadn't _been_ in the Brig, he'd been staying in Trip's quarters—another sign of the disastrously naive way that Archer had been behaving.

"Good-bye, my love," Malcolm whispered in Trip's ear, almost inaudible.

That was his cue. "I'm not goin' _anywhere_ with you," Trip suddenly declared, faking jabbing Malcolm hard in the stomach.

"Trip!" Archer shouted, fearing Malcolm's finger would slip and fire the phase pistol.

It was just supposed to make it look like Trip was indeed struggling. Instead Malcolm released him and stumbled backwards into the wall, neatly knocking Trip to the floor near T'Pol's feet. The instant Trip was clear, Marcus fired his phase pistol. Instead of stunning Malcolm, however, the red beam of energy seemed to freeze him in place, then cause the space around him to crackle blue. In an instant, he had vanished.

For a moment there was nothing but shocked silence on the Bridge. Trip, as stunned as anyone else, opened his mouth to cry out—had he just seen Malcolm _vaporized_ before his eyes? Before he could speak, however, T'Pol slipped a hand on his shoulder and pinched surreptitiously. "Captain," she stated coolly, carefully lying Trip's now-unconscious form on the floor, "I believe Commander Tucker may be injured."

"Phlox," Archer ordered Hoshi, unable to form any other words. Then he whirled on his Tactical Officer. "Marcus!"

The man was staring at the phase pistol in his hand as though it were a live snake engulfing his arm. "I don't—I—It's not—"

" _Pardon me for interrupting, Captain Archer_ ," came a buzzing noise at the single most inopportune time Archer could ever remember. He spun around to face the viewscreen, having nearly forgotten about their audience. " _Our sensors no longer detect the fugitive's biosign on your ship._ "

"No," Archer replied, a little dazed, "no, I guess—not."

" _I see your disposal of him was not your intent, and my crew and I grieve for your pain_ ," Josk continued, remarkably eloquent under the circumstances. Unfortunately Archer was not in a state to appreciate it at the moment. " _But we must also rejoice, for now our Leader's soul can be at peace._ "

"Right," Archer breathed.

" _We will trouble you no more_ ," Josk concluded. And with that the screen went black.

"The Agaman ship is moving away," T'Pol reported calmly.

Energy was suddenly breathed into Archer once more. With a glance at Marcus to see that the man had no intention of moving a single step until Archer had given him permission, the Captain sprang to T'Pol's station, or rather the foot of it, where Dr. Phlox was leaning over Trip. "How bad?" he demanded gravely.

"Not bad at all," Phlox told him, sounding thoroughly mystified. "Commander Tucker is suffering nothing worse than the temporary effects of a Vulcan neural pinch."

" _What?!_ " Archer stared at T'Pol.

The First Officer raised an eyebrow. "Commander Tucker was, I believe, about to give away the fact that he has an emotional attachment to Mr. Reed," she explained. "This would no doubt have raised the suspicions of the Agamans and potentially ruined his escape plan."

" _Escape plan?!_ " Archer was in her face. "T'Pol, he was just—disintegrated—" He turned to the other side of the Bridge. "Marcus?"

"It's set to stun, sir," the shaken Tactical Officer insisted. He'd set the phase pistol down on his console, staring at it like it might attack _him_ next.

"Captain," T'Pol began evenly, "while I do not have all the answers yet, I believe it is safe to say that Mr. Reed came up with an additional option to solve our dilemma."

 

Trip awoke in Sickbay, groggy and achy. "What in the h—l?" he groaned. He felt cool metal touch his neck and heard the hiss of the hypospray, and the pain began to dissipate. He risked opening his eyes.

"There you are, Commander," Phlox said cheerfully, helping him sit up. "You'll feel better quite soon, I believe."

"I don't—" And then he did. "Malcolm!"

"Relax, relax, Commander," Phlox urged, keeping him on the bed.

The last thing Trip could remember was the man he loved vanishing in a crackle of blue light at the wrong end of a phase pistol. The only relaxing he intended to do was a quick slide into oblivion. "Mal—" Phlox caught him before he tumbled off the bed.

"You must calm down, Commander," the doctor continued in a sensible tone. "I don't want to give you a sedative in your condition."

What was Phlox going on about? It didn't even make sense to Trip's ears. All he could think about was the feeling of his heart rising in his throat to choke him, and how glad he would be when it did. At least then he wouldn't see Malcolm's smile, hear his voice, feel his warm skin under his fingers—in his mind, the only place he would ever have those things again—

"Trip!"

Archer jogged through the Sickbay doors and his friend turned to him, tears slipping down his face. "Jon," he gasped, unable to get a full breath. He held out a hand plaintively.

Archer grabbed it, racing to disperse the heartbreak on Trip's face. "He's alive, Trip. That g-----n sneaky son of a b---h is _fine_."

"What?" Trip sputtered, not comprehending.

"It was all a fake," Archer went on, almost deliriously happy even as he would like to strangle Malcolm. "I guess he didn't tell you all of his plan—"

"He's not dead?"

"No!" Jon insisted. "At least, it doesn't look that way. T'Pol and Marcus and Lt. Hess are still sorting it out. There's a d—n mess in Engineering, and—" Seeing the confusion on Trip's face Jon took a breath and started over. "He had to make it look like he'd been killed, so the Agamans wouldn't pursue him anymore. Killed by _us_ , so the Agamans wouldn't pursue _us_ either."

Trip sniffed, scrubbing tears off his face with the sleeve of his uniform. "The shuttlepod thing—"

Archer shook his head. "There was a cloaked ship waiting for him—T'Pol said there was some kind of sensor anomaly, that must have been it. And he rigged up some kind of a field, so that when Marcus shot at him, the interference would hide the transporter signature." Trip was staring at him now. "The Agamans couldn't pick it up. H—l, T'Pol couldn't even pick it up until she'd gone over the internal sensor logs three times."

Trip's mind was racing. "That b-----d," he breathed. "The diamagnetic charger. What the _h—l_ did that man do to my engine room?!" And with that he hopped off the biobed and sprinted for Engineering, simultaneously relieved and infuriated.

 

"I'm real mad at you," Trip pouted, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared at the computer screen.

" _I thought you might be, love_ ," Malcolm replied. His manner was sympathetic, if not actually _apologetic_.

"You f----d up my engines and you made me think you were dead."

The dark-haired man smiled from the computer screen. Trip refused to thaw. " _Your engines should have minor damage only, and you could only have thought I was dead for a few seconds at most._ "

"Yeah, well, it felt like a year," Trip shot back petulantly. "You're d—n lucky T'Pol figured out what was goin' on and shut me up before I gave the whole thing away."

" _I thought she might be useful on that count_ ," Malcolm replied. " _Also Marcus's tendency to shoot at things._ "

"Don't you tell me you had this whole thing planned out move-for-move," Trip snapped. "You coulda told me."

" _Trip_ ," Malcolm began leadingly.

"What?"

" _I'd like to rig up part of your warp field generation system to provide a diamagnetic inference screen to mask my transporter signature onto an invisible ship, with said screen to be triggered by a burst of phase pistol fire_ ," Malcolm stated flatly.

"That's the stupidest idea I've ever heard," Trip judged harshly.

" _Now you see why I didn't tell you_."

"You coulda—" Trip could hardly speak he was so frustrated. He couldn't remember ever being angrier at Malcolm—except for maybe when he'd discovered he was something other than a prostitute on a shore leave planet in the first place. "The phase pistol might not have triggered the screen, the screen might have interfered with the actual transporter operation, you might have blown half the circuits on the ship—what if your d—n invisible ship had _moved_ or something?" He shook his head. "You could very well just be a bunch of molecules scattered across space by now."

" _But I'm not_ ," Malcolm pointed out sensibly. " _I'm fine, it worked. The Agamans are off my trail, and your trail, and I can continue trying to find out who wants to kill your Captain_." He smiled. " _So what are you upset about again?_ "

Well, when he put it that way... "I don't know," Trip admitted sulkily. "But I'm upset." It was as honest an answer as he could give.

" _I'm sorry, darling_." This time he seemed more sincere. It could just be an act, of course. It could _always_ just be an act. But Trip felt himself becoming mollified. " _I promise you, I'll make it up to you, the next time we meet._ "

"Yeah? And when's _that_ going to be?" Trip tried to still sound bitter, but he knew Malcolm could see through it.

" _Soon_."


End file.
